


Come Again?

by Jacqueline Albright-Beckett (xaandria)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottoming from the Top, Fingering, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Shower Sex, Very slight dubcon, blessing sex, curse sex, realistic presence of lubricant, shared sensation, switch!cas, switch!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:32:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaandria/pseuds/Jacqueline%20Albright-Beckett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unintended application of an ancient nuptial blessing leaves Cas and Dean at each others' mercy, having bestowed upon them the ability to both experience and influence the other's sexual sensations for the space of ten days. Any other two people with sense would swear off any and all carnal activity until the blessing runs its course, but when have Cas and Dean ever had any sense when it comes to what the other is feeling? A tale of self-gratification, unexpected gratification, self-restraint, lack of any restraint at all, and Sam having to work a case all by himself because of an "illness" that has suspiciously brought Dean and Cas both to their knees. Ahem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thanks so much to everyone who cheerled and/or held me kicking and screaming at the keyboard to finish this and then help polish it into something postable -- you're amazing.
> 
> Second, of COURSE thank you to my incredible artist [paxdracona](http://paxdracona.tumblr.com/), whose other works can be seen on her [livejournal](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/) and [tumblr](http://scribblyscratch.tumblr.com/). You'll see her amazing illustrations throughout the story.

**THURSDAY**

 

The apothecary drawers in the Men of Letters’ reagents room took up three walls, with a rolling ladder to reach the topmost drawers. Dean was perched at the top of the ladder, pulling a small jar of very specific dried moss from a drawer, when he heard the sound of glass breaking below him.

“Sorry,” Cas mumbled, looking forlornly at the hundreds of tiny black beads of some sort of resin that now rolled every which way. “The lid came off.”

Dean rolled his eyes as he descended down the ladder, carefully avoiding stepping on any of the beads. “It’s fine. Let’s just clean it up.” They could just dump it in the drawer it came from until Dean could come back with a Ziplock baggie. The concrete of the floor didn’t feel the best against Dean’s knees as he knelt next to Cas, sweeping the black beads into a pile in the center of the floor, and when he spied a small wooden box inside a cubby missing its drawer, he paused in his tidying to rock back on his heels to pull it out.

“Huh,” he said, turning the box over in his hands a few times before sliding the lid off.

“Is that a good idea?” Cas asked doubtfully.

“All the cursed stuff is in the basement,” Dean replied dismissively as the lid finally gave way. He pointed at the Men of Letters sigil in the corner of the lid and a catalog number. “They used this number sequence for blessings. I wonder why it’s in here.”

The box only had a single item in it; brow furrowed, Dean shook it to see if there might be a false bottom, but there was nothing of the sort. He withdrew the worn silk tube and rolled it between his fingers for a moment.

“What is it?” Cas asked.

“I dunno,” Dean admitted, just as recognition dawned. “It looks like a Chinese finger trap.”

“A what?”

“Here.” Dean pushed an index finger into one end, then grabbed Cas’s hand and worked the other end of the tube over one of Cas’s fingers. “No matter how hard you pull, you won’t be able to get your finger out.”

Cas stared at the contraption for a moment. “This seems unwise.”

“It’s a kid’s toy. Look, you just press in instead of pulling and it comes right off.” Dean demonstrated.

“If it’s just a toy, what is it doing cataloged in the Men of Letters bunker?” Cas asked, eyeing it warily as he removed it from his finger.

Dean shook his head as he gathered some of the pile of resin beads into a cupped hand. “Look, the Men of Letters filed a lot of stuff under ‘blessings.’ Including their porn and a few first issues of Superman. There’s nothing to worry about.” He replaced the lid on the box and slid it back into its cubbyhole. “Let’s locate that dryad.”

 

* * *

 

 

Pressure.

Dean shifted in the seat, as much as the seatbelt would allow, and reached out to turn the radio up. Now that Cas was living at the bunker, he didn’t often get a chance to be alone in the car -- he was usually accompanied even on grocery runs like this one. But Sam was deep in research on the rogue dryad and Cas had made some noises about being tired, so Dean had happily slid into the driver’s seat to head toward the nearest 24-hour grocery store.

He’d barely pulled onto the main road back home, plastic bags of food in the trunk, when the pressure stabbed at his belly again, and a familiar warmth began to gather in urgent swirls. Dean glanced down in surprise, taking one hand off the wheel to adjust the suddenly tight crotch of his jeans. “Okay,” he said, perplexed, “Where did you come from?”

His erection didn’t reply, simply throbbed once against his jeans. Dean shook his head and returned his hand to the steering wheel, fully intending to ignore the problem. It’d go away by the time he got back to the bunker. Probably just the vibration of the Impala’s engine setting it off, though random boners hadn’t really been a problem since he’d been seventeen.

But as he rolled to a not-quite-stop at a stop sign, he couldn’t help but notice how flushed he felt, how tense the muscles across his pelvis were, and if his foot hadn’t already been tapping at the brake he probably would have slammed it down as he very distinctly felt something brush against his asshole.

“What the fuck?” he demanded of no one as he yanked the steering wheel to the side, stopping the car in the gravel beside the road as the tension coiled in a delicious heat in his groin. “Seriously, what the --”

He was rudely interrupted by the coil snapping, the rest of the phrase escaping as a rushed exhalation as he blinked in astonishment at the orgasm that flooded his senses, even the tips of his fingers feeling flushed with the swells of warmth and satiation. Panting, as much as with surprise as with the unexpected exertion, Dean looked down at himself, blinking hard.

"Okay," he said slowly, flexing his fingers in an attempt to work fine motor skills back into them. "That's never happened before."

His cock had begun to grow limp, and the wet spot was getting cold. Neither of them offered any sort of answer. Shaking his head in disbelief, Dean yanked the car out of park and continued the drive home.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**FRIDAY**

 

Despite what Sam might say, mornings were actually Dean's favorite time of day -- provided he had gotten plenty of sleep and was allowed to wake up at his own pace. A six a.m. wake-up call after staying up too late coupled with the urgent need to be elsewhere would put anyone into a bad mood.

But waking up slowly, well-rested, alone in his own room, the fuzzy impressions of a vivid and intense sex dream giving way to a luxurious jacking off? There wasn't much that could beat that, especially if there was coffee in the kitchen for later.

Dean's rhythm faltered for a moment as a detail from the dream emerged: he very distinctly remembered two dicks, shaft-to-shaft, one of them his own. He didn't know who the other one belonged to, but he was going to hazard a guess that it was not a female. Not that there was anything wrong with that, should it ever happen, but he couldn’t shake the certainty that his company had definitely been male. As he came to terms with that, he wasn't entirely surprised to feel another curl of arousal take hold. He let out a contented little sigh and resumed his self-ministrations, running his thumb over the sensitive head slick with precome every few strokes.

So he was dreaming about wanting cock. It only stood to reason that, being a fan of sex in all its forms, he would eventually be curious about aspects he hadn't tried yet. Or, well, hadn't tried to their full capacity. He'd been blind drunk when he'd sucked that guy off and barely remembered the experience, but what he did recall, he recalled with some fondness. He'd have to try again at some point. Maybe with Cas.

Dean's eyes flew open in surprise at where his train of thought had ended up, but apparently his body approved: he tipped over the point of no return and with an explosive exhalation of his held breath, Dean came, thrusting his hips up into his hand with abandon. After several moments he stilled, unclenching his other hand from the sheets, and took a shaky breath.

A few tissues dealt with the mess -- that was really the only downside of jacking off, the inevitable mess -- and, feeling refreshed and well-rested, Dean pulled on his clothes and stepped into the hallway. There was coffee in the kitchen.

Cas was heading back to his own room, a bathrobe tied loosely around his waist revealing that he'd just been in the shower. "Morning," Dean said.

"Morning," Cas replied with a preoccupied air.

Dean turned to watch as Cas disappeared into his own room without another word. What was eating him?

 

* * *

 

 

“California’s a long way to go,” Dean pointed out, bringing his mug to his lips. He lowered it again without drinking; this third cup was fresh from the pot and still slightly too hot to avoid burning his tongue. He nodded at Cas as the angel wandered into the kitchen. Cas nodded back, still with that preoccupied lack of focus.

“It’s a long way, but the other Hunters in that area don’t have anywhere near as many resources as we do,” Sam argued. “Not to mention the reagents for the location spell are hard to come by.”

“You really think we need to head out there?” Dean asked, one eyebrow raising slightly as Cas turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen with haste. He shrugged. Must have forgotten something. “I mean, they’re already actively hunting her.”

“The last one she killed was a Hunter,” Sam pointed out.

“Who ought to have known better than to bone a dryad,” Dean interjected, shifting his hips slightly and standing up straight from leaning against the kitchen counter. He suppressed a frown. Was he getting a chubby just talking about the dryad? He knew they were ridiculously sensual creatures, especially once identified as they had done the day before, but the one in question was more than a thousand miles away and shouldn’t be able to influence anyone from that distance.

“I imagine she took him by surprise,” Sam said wryly, and he didn’t sound as though he were experiencing anything untoward. Dean shoved one hand in his pocket to hide the now-alarming bulge in his jeans and took his first sip of the coffee, no longer particularly caring whether it was too hot. “Fact is, Dean, there are more people calling themselves Hunters out there than ever before, and they’re great for basic salt-and-burn type jobs, but against something with a little more metaphysical punch…”

“They need big guns,” Dean agreed reluctantly, and covered a surprised cough with another gulp of hot coffee as his cock gave an urgent sort of throb that he knew all too well. With a sudden certainty, Dean knew that if he continued to stand there in the kitchen, he would be having to make some awkward explanations to his brother. “Just a sec,” he said gruffly, setting the mug down on the counter and shouldering past Sam.

He’d intended to get to his bedroom, but not even halfway there it became apparent that he wasn’t going to last that long. Just short of panting with the sharp demand of arousal, he was already loosening his belt and fly as he stepped up to the bathroom door and pushed it open.

So focused was he on extricating his hard cock from his jeans and boxers before he came, Dean didn’t look up until he heard the startled gasp.

“Dean!”

Dean jumped back, knocking his shoulder hard on the doorjamb and all thoughts of pulling out his cock vanished as he numbly watched Cas’s surprised expression slide into one of bliss as his hand stilled on his own cock. In the same instant they both came, Dean’s eyes glued to Cas’s cock as it twitched forth a truly admirable stream of come, matched only by the amount that Dean could feel against his own leg as his eyes fluttered half-lidded at the strength of the orgasm.

For several moments neither of them moved aside from shaky breaths, Cas’s cock still twitching in time with Dean’s at the minute aftershocks, until Dean wrenched his eyes upwards to look into Cas’s. He was certain that his own mortification and surprise were mirrored there, and as Cas reached behind him to throw away the wad of tissue in his free hand, Dean cleared his throat.

“I’m gonna go change my pants,” he said, voice rough, “and then we’re gonna go look up what the fuck that blessing was.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was a musty ledger an inch thick, filled with tiny, impeccable handwriting that Dean was sure belonged to someone who’d had a droning voice and enjoyed writing in ledgers. The blessing was near the beginning of the ream of pages, and Cas began to read it aloud quietly.

“A sexual boon for two men in Indonesia who had recently committed their lives to one another,” he said, finger trailing along the page to keep his place in the dense text. “Increased libido, stamina, and desire, and allowed one man to feel the sexual sensations of the other until climax, at which point the first man would feel the sensations of the second until climax, ad infinitum until the blessing is dispersed by the rise of the new moon.”

Dean shook his head. “So, basically a ‘best honeymoon ever’ kit.” A suspicion occurred to him. “You jack off last night?” he asked bluntly, not bothering to be shy about it.

“Yes,” Cas replied in the same even tone. “I assume you experienced the same thing that happened to me in the shower this morning.”

Dean forced his mind away from the sudden mental image of Cas coming in the shower, untouched and astonished like he had been in the car, determined to ignore the warmth that began to pool under his belly at the thought. “We need to stop. We can’t go on like this for…” he trailed off. “When is the next new moon?”

“Next Saturday,” Cas supplied, mild alarm at the corners of his eyes. “Dean, I’m still trying to reconcile _having_ a human libido in the first place. An increased one --”

“Ignore the boners,” Dean said firmly. “You didn’t have teenage years to develop the skill, but they go away on their own. Take a cold shower if you need to. But we gotta lock this down.” A slight pang at the thought of not getting off for more than a week gave him the same distress that he could see mirrored in Cas’s face, but Cas pressed his lips together and bobbed a single curt nod.

Dean pulled the ledger from Cas’s hands and clapped it shut. The warmth of pre-arousal still gathered down below, his cock twitching very slightly in interest as blood continued to rush south, but Dean resolutely refused to wonder if Cas was feeling the same thing as he shoved the book back onto the shelf. They were adults. They could deal with this, and it was only a couple of days.

 

* * *

 

“I just don’t think Ryan has the...fortitude to take on this dryad,” Sam said finally, raking his fingers through his hair. “I mean, he’s good at brute force, but negotiating isn’t really his thing.”

“He’d probably end up sexing her up himself, even if he swore up and down he knew what he was doing,” Dean pointed out. “These things are living aphrodisiacs, and Ryan isn’t exactly a paragon of self-restraint.”

“Which would make him just another tally mark, and we’d have to go out there anyway,” Sam agreed. “Unless he gets lucky and manages to get her pregnant like she wants.”

Dean shifted, unconsciously reaching under the table to adjust his half-hard cock in his jeans. Across the table, Cas jumped. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, cursing himself as he withdrew his hand and clasped both of them on the table in front of him.

His own “ignore the boner” mantra was meeting with little success, the low-grade arousal refusing to drain away, but at least it wasn’t getting worse. He supposed he could handle the simmer. Three times since they’d sat down, Cas had excused himself -- for what, Dean wasn’t certain, but each time the other man had come back to the table with an expression of sheer frustration and had sat, brooding, contributing little to the conversation.

“For that matter, are we really any better?” Sam asked hesitantly. “I know we think we know what we’re doing, but...like you said, Dean, seduction is what she lives and breathes right now. She’s already taken one hunter. Maybe we should call in someone else for this. Jody? Think she’d be up for it?”

"Jody's got her own job," Dean said, shaking his head. 

“I don’t think she would affect me,” Cas said suddenly, speaking up for the first time in a while.

“Oh?” Dean asked, leaning back in his chair. “Why not?”

Cas raised an eyebrow at him, very slightly. “I’m fairly certain that her tactics only work on males who are carnally interested in females,” he said delicately.

“And you’re not?” Sam asked, curious.

“I’ve determined through some trial and error that my interests lie elsewhere,” Cas said, the tips of his ears turning bright red, though his voice betrayed no emotion.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Sam mused with nonchalance, not missing a beat at the confirmation of something Dean and Sam both had been suspecting for some time. “She’ll probably let her guard down around a male, thinking she’s just luring him in, but if it’s based on sexual attraction, you’ll be able to keep a much clearer head than either of us.”

Sam continued to speak, but Dean had stopped listening, distracted by the notion of Cas’s “trial and error.” He’d known Cas had slept with at least one woman, but did that mean he’d had sex with a man, too, to determine that he preferred it? Unbidden, the image of Cas on his back, knees splayed, flashed at the back of his mind. His mind eagerly supplied the expression of bliss Dean had seen on Cas’s face earlier, and the focal point of the daydream shifted so that it was as though Dean was the one above Cas on the bed…

“Yeah,” Dean agreed loudly, realizing Sam had paused to ask for Dean’s input on something. He coughed, reaching down to adjust his now achingly hard cock into a more comfortable angle as it strained against the denim of his jeans. Across the table, Cas drew in a slow breath. Dean blinked. What had Sam been talking about? “Do we know which Sequoia dryad this one is? We could use protection charms even if Cas is the one going in.”

Sam shook his head at the end of the table, seemingly unaware of the tension crackling in the air between Dean and Cas. “That’s the thing -- I think this might be a new one. They only breed once, right? And then they go back to being quiet and hiding from humans. So…”

Sam’s voice faded in Dean’s awareness like a badly tuned radio station as Dean slowly ran his palm along the length of his cock, carefully watching Cas’s reaction. It was there, just barely -- Cas’s eyes were light enough blue to make it obvious that his pupils were dilated, leaving only the slightest ring of color around them. As Dean tightened his fingers around his shaft, Cas’s tongue darted out, nervously wetting his lips, and he glanced at Dean, locking eyes with him in a flicker of disbelief.

Dean relaxed his grip. He was not jacking off. He was just...palming. It felt nice, and there was no reason he shouldn’t. He dropped his gaze to the sheaf of papers before him, each of them a profile of a different dryad the Men of Letters had encountered in days long gone. But he could somehow still feel Cas’s eyes on him, and again and again he had to consciously relax his hand, stop himself running his knuckles along his cock in a kneading motion, and every so often he snuck a glance at the man sitting stoically across from him.

Dean jumped as Sam suddenly scooted his chair back from the table, and he guiltily reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m gonna get a beer,” Sam announced. “You guys want me to bring you one?”

“Yeah,” Dean said with too much casualness, and Cas simply nodded, not looking up from the book in front of him.

Sam’s footsteps had not even faded in the corridor to the kitchen before Cas’s eyes darted up to catch Dean’s. “What are you doing?” he asked in a low, strained voice, because Dean’s hand had migrated back down to his cock and began palming it again.

“I…” Dean didn’t have an answer. His cock throbbed once against his hand, and he withdrew it reluctantly. “I’ll stop.”

“Don’t.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Don’t stop,” Cas repeated, voice catching on the words. “I can’t -- I’ve tried, a couple times now, and I think I can’t orgasm unless you do, and…” He trailed off, and his eyes took on a desperate cast.

Dean hadn’t noticed that he’d replaced his hand on his cock again, running it along the length, stroking himself as best he could through the thick fabric. There was no breaking eye contact with Cas, not now, and the tension coiled deliciously at the base of Dean’s spine as Cas’s eyelids drooped, jaw going very slightly slack…

The clink of glass bottles echoed in the hallway, and footsteps grew rapidly louder.

“Dean, please,” Cas whispered.

With an urgency he had never before encountered, Dean thrust his hips up to give the fabric at the crotch of his jeans more slack. He wrapped his fingers around his cock and squeezed --

\-- and for the third time in less than a day, he came in his pants, hard enough to make the edges of his vision go fuzzy. He could hear Cas’s tiny suppressed grunts as the pulses crescendoed and dwindled away, and both of them blinked in astonishment at one another as Sam made his entrance, plunking a bottle of beer for each of them down onto the table.

“Thank you,” Cas said in a hollow voice as he reached forward for his.

Dean didn’t speak, just upended the bottle, focusing on the cold fizz as he swallowed. What had gotten into him? Into both of them?

 

* * *

 

“This isn’t going to work,” Dean muttered some minutes later after excusing himself from the table. Cas had followed wordlessly, both of them taking particular care to adopt a normal, nonchalant stride that didn’t betray the wet spot in their underwear.

“No,” Cas agreed. “It’s too intense to ignore.”

“And going an hour ignoring it was impossible,” Dean added, “so forget going a week.” He let out an explosive sigh as they paused in front of his bedroom door.

“Maybe it was the knowledge that it was forbidden,” Cas suggested after a moment. “That does tend to make perfectly normal things irresistible.”

“Maybe,” Dean echoed dubiously. “So, what, we have regularly scheduled masturbation? Make it boring? What’s your genius plan?”

“Actually,” Cas admitted, “I was going to suggest that. I could have nights, and you could have mornings, when we can be assured of privacy.”

“And you think twice a day is going to be enough to take the edge off?” Dean asked.

“Maybe,” Cas replied, thought doubt drew his brows together in a scowl. “We can try it and see. If not...” he trailed off, and Dean shrugged.

“Better plan than I had, I guess. Fine.” He clapped Cas on the shoulder. “It’s all on you to hold it together through dinner.”

Cas reddened slightly at that, and turned to continue down the hall to his own room. Dean took a deep breath as he opened his door. If they were very, very lucky, they wouldn’t have a repeat of this over the dinner table.

 

* * *

 

To Dean’s surprise and Cas’s credit, the rest of the early evening passed without incident, and after an artery-clogging dinner of macaroni and cheese -- the real kind, with bread crumbs and bacon and enough grated cheese to fill a bucket -- Dean passed up the usual beer in front of the television with Sam, begging a food coma. Cas had already gone to his room with a book and though there had been no stabs of pleasure yet, Dean did not want to be in a situation that might be difficult to extract himself from.

In fact, he’d settled on his bed with his headphones and a book of his own, and had been reading for the better part of an hour, before the familiar needy warmth of arousal began to gather in his crotch. Expecting it -- and being in the privacy of his own room -- took much of the alarm out of it and he sighed, folding a page down to keep his place as he tossed the book to the side and settled back into his pillows. Volume up on the headphones to isolate himself from the sounds of the bunker settling, eyes closed, he focused instead on the sensation for the first time.

It wasn’t exactly like a hand on his dick -- there was a rhythm to the build, but it didn’t feel like someone was touching him. It felt more like his cock had a mind of its own and was bringing itself off. Even the brush against his rim that he’d felt the night before -- and there it was again, not so much a brush of touch as a register of pressure. Dean drew in a sharp breath as it became a definite sensation of something slender pushing past the ringed muscle, and he wondered if he was feeling it because Cas considered the sensation sexual, or because they both did; Dean wasn’t altogether certain he did himself. But as he relaxed and let himself just feel, he came closer and closer to the conclusion that he was enjoying it.

No sooner had he wondered whether he’d enjoy it as much if it was two fingers than he had his answer; there was the burn of a stretch that wasn’t physically there, pressure and a fullness that he couldn’t quite describe, and he abandoned all pretense of being calm and collected as he bucked his hips up against the sheets, reaching down to take his cock in hand. He pulled at it for a few strokes, and though it felt good, there was none of the feeling of advancing toward an orgasm, and he let his hand still, doing little more than gripping the shaft and squeezing every few moments.

Abruptly, the sensation of being fingered fled and Dean was caught up in a rush of heat and urgency, his cock pulsing at odd intervals beneath his hand as his pelvic muscles tensed in preparation. The speed of it made Dean hold his breath, head canting back against the pillows, and he let the breath out in a long whoosh as he came, hips twitching with the force of it, and he allowed himself one low moan as the intensity receded into tiny aftershocks of pleasure.

Dean nearly fell asleep then, rousing himself only long enough to yank his headphones off and give a cursory wipe to his stomach with a tissue. He missed when he tried to throw the tissue into the garbage can, but the bone-deep lassitude that followed a strong orgasm before bed made it difficult to care.

His last coherent thought before he drifted off, the bedside lamp still on, was that Cas definitely knew how to treat himself.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**SATURDAY**

 

Dean was still in the muddled haze between sleep and wakefulness the next morning when he reached down to pull his cock through the fly of his boxers and began slowly stroking. He’d been on the brink of coming in the dream he’d just left, and the urgency in his balls meant he’d been hard for some time now.

Difficult as it was to stop, common sense broke through his foggy thoughts and suggested that after the messes of the past day, it would not be the worst idea to finish this off in the shower. Dry wads of tissues could only do so much, and even if he did shower afterward, Dean didn’t particularly like the idea of piles of semen-soaked tissues accumulating in his room.

It was that thought that decided him, even if it did take him several more minutes to swing his legs over the side of the bed, throw a bathrobe over his shoulders, and make his way to the shower room, hard cock bobbing before him with every step, the sensitive head rubbing against the inside of the bathrobe and leaving tiny cold patches of precome.

The shower room was already damp and warm with steam; Dean stopped short as the door swung closed behind him. If Sam was in here, he’d need to abort his plan immediately. But no, that was Cas’s blue bathrobe hanging on the hook next to the occupied stall. Dean’s shoulders released tension he hadn’t known had been gathering. He grabbed a towel from the rack and made his way to the stall next to Cas’s.

Cas must not have heard the door opening, because as Dean passed his stall there was a startled sound and, as Dean untied the sash of the robe, the curtain to Cas’s stall was swept aside very slightly and Cas leaned out to investigate.

“Just me,” Dean said, twitching his robe to hide his nakedness. Ridiculous, he knew, especially since Cas was making no effort to hide the rest of his body behind the curtain and Cas had no doubt been enjoying the sensations Dean had been supplying earlier. Dean could not stop his eyes from wandering down the angel’s wet skin, flushed with heat, down to the tangle of dark hair that surrounded Cas’s cock, standing at full attention just as Dean’s was.

Cas didn’t seem to think his staring was rude, or perhaps he didn’t realize he was doing it. Dean let the robe slip from his shoulders and he hung it up on the hook next to Cas’s. There was a challenge, a yearning, in Cas’s eyes, and Dean swallowed. It would be the easiest thing on earth to step into Cas’s stall with him, press himself against him, skin to skin…

Resolutely, Dean flicked aside the curtain to his own stall and stepped in, closing the curtain firmly behind him -- or at least as firmly as a curtain could be shut.

The water was immediately warm, on the edge of too hot, and Dean did not waste any time at all wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking. The most polite thing to do, he surmised, would be to get it over with quickly, but his hand slowed and he found himself instead focusing on simply tightening his grip at intervals, rubbing his free palm over the head in a circular motion, ears straining to hear any sounds Cas was making over the rush of the water. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could hear heavy breathing, ragged, and his mind’s eye supplied him with the mental image of Cas leaning against the tile with his eyes closed, hand around his own cock as water beat against his chest.

Knowing that he was the one keeping Cas on edge sent a delicious thrill through Dean, and he stroked once, long and slow, and this time he knew he wasn’t imagining it: there was a low moan from the stall next door, a sigh only just given voice. He stroked again, the desire to increase his speed warring with the satisfaction of knowing he was causing Cas to make those soft sounds, of drawing out the pleasure until he thought he’d go mad if he didn’t come soon.

“Dean...”

So quiet Dean couldn’t be positive he’d actually heard it, but the desperation behind it coupled with Cas’s voice saying it drove Dean over the edge. Three quick strokes was all it took to break fantastically, forcing Dean to put out a hand against the cool tile to steady himself as his vision swam, a combination of the orgasm and the heat of the shower making him dizzy as his cock twitched out one thick stream of come after another. Dimly, ears ringing with the blood rush, Dean could hear Cas’s heavy breathing as he came. Dean hoped the orgasm had been as spectacular for Cas, too; the intensity of it had certainly caught Dean by surprise.

Spent cock beginning to soften, Dean directed some of the shower’s spray at the tiled wall, washing the spatters of semen to the drain in the floor. His knees were still shaky as he purposefully stepped under the shower’s spray to begin his actual shower, and he didn’t reach out to grab his towel until he heard Cas leave, and he was certain he was alone.

 

* * *

 

“If we’re going to head out there, we have to go soon,” Sam said, sighing as he closed his laptop. “She’s going to go looking for her next consort on the new moon, and that’s in…” He blinked, then went to open the laptop again to look it up.

“Eight days,” Dean supplied through a mouthful of croissant. Sam paused.

“Did you accidentally eat a lunar calendar?” he asked.

Dean shook his head, swallowing. “Cas told me.” Well, that wasn’t a complete lie. “He's like a walking almanac for that kind of stuff.”

Sam looked as though he wanted to ask why Dean and Cas had been talking about new moons, then changed his mind. “We should leave tomorrow. We’re going to need some supplies from the hardware store, and I want to print out as much of the stuff I found as I can. I don’t think the laptop battery will last if we’ve got to camp for a week.”

Nodding, Dean took a long drag of coffee. “Redwood stakes aren’t going to be at Lowe’s. We’ll probably have to cut those ourselves.” And hope that no park rangers would take offense. 

“No, but the barbed wire, the wrought-iron rods -- we should have as much as we can before we head out so we don’t have to improvise.”

Cas cleared his throat, and Dean shot a surprised look at him. “I need clothes,” he stated baldly. “I’m more human than angel, now. What I have isn’t going to do much against an early spring night in the woods.”

A pang of guilt that they hadn’t seen to Cas’s needs thrummed in Dean’s chest. It hadn’t been long ago that Cas had swapped his borrowed Grace for the meager scavenged shreds of his own -- Grace that would keep him alive without the danger of burning out, but which rendered him closer to human than he’d experienced since he’d _been_ human. “Here’s the plan, then,” he said, setting down his mug. “We’ll pick up Sam’s shopping list and swing by the surplus store on the way back. I hope you like plaid.”

 

* * *

 

Properly fed and caffeinated, Dean slid into the driver’s seat as Cas slammed the passenger door shut. The engine turned over and roared to life, and Dean took a deep breath. “Sorry,” he said abruptly.

“About what?” Cas asked, puzzled.

“Clothes,” Dean replied. “Hell, underwear -- have you been wearing the same pair since you downgraded to Grace Lite?”

“There _is_ enough angel left in me to keep my clothes clean,” Cas remarked wryly. “And a good thing, too, given the past few days.”

Dean snorted as he pulled onto the gravel road that wound its way to the main highway. His mind cast about for something else to talk about, to veer the conversation away from that topic, but it didn’t land on anything useful. Cas offered no words, either, and the quiet between them was broken only by the growl of the engine as Dean accelerated.

They had not even made it to the first stop sign before the familiar stab of arousal made Dean glance to the side at Cas, who was staring out the window with a very determined expression. “Really? Here?” Dean demanded.

“You smell good,” Cas said in a low, defensive tone. “And you’re -- close.” He swallowed as he shifted in his seat, pulling down the slack fabric of his trousers at his knees to make more room in the crotch.

Dean licked his lips, forcing his eyes to the road.

All the stubborn nature in the world could not stave off the increasing needy pressure in his groin as Dean drove on, and even less so as Cas began absently rubbing a hand along the crotch of his pants. They hadn’t even made it to main arterials yet; it would be another two or three miles before they approached more populated roads, and if his now-throbbing hard-on was any indication, this would be their last chance to relieve the tension before public spaces made it impossible.

With a heavy sigh that was perhaps shakier than it should have been, Dean pulled the car to the side of the road and killed the engine. Cas looked up in bemusement, the guilty hand swiftly going to grip at his knee instead.

“What --?”

“Don’t even,” Dean said, then cleared his throat -- his voice had already dropped into huskiness, and looking over to see Cas within arm’s reach sent a rush of warmth to swirl around his belly that was impossible to fully ignore. “You don’t take care of this now, there’ll be hell to pay later. For both of us,” he added as an afterthought.

Cas gave a slow nod, not tearing his eyes from Dean’s, and Dean closed his own to suppress the sudden urge to reach out and touch, grasp, do anything at all to the man sitting next to him. No doubt it was only because the blessing had linked the two of them, but he couldn’t remember ever wanting something quite as badly as he suddenly wanted to lay his hands upon Cas.

He took a breath, and then another, trying to ground his urge in reality, but his eyes flew open and he let out his breath in a sudden, surprised _whoosh_ as he felt unexpected friction on his cock. In Dean’s few moments of inattention, Cas had undone his fly and pulled his own cock out, clearly intending to waste no time in chasing down his release. His eyes had drifted shut, jaw slack, lips only slightly parted, but his face was not what Dean’s eyes were drawn to.

Dean could not make himself look away. He’d seen Cas’s cock before -- just that morning, in fact -- had seen it hard several times in the past few days, and as genitals went he supposed it didn’t look too different from his own, but the glimpses he got of it as Cas’s hand pumped up and down the shaft made it seem...inviting.

His hand was half stretched across the distance between them before he realized it, and he halted, but if he was honest with himself, the last thing he wanted to do was withdraw it. The heat gathered in a tightening coil in his groin, cock straining against the denim of his jeans, and as Cas slowed his pace Dean took a deep breath and reached across the rest of the space between them before he could talk himself out of it.

Cas’s eyelids fluttered, but he seemed to accept Dean’s hand closing around his shaft as a matter of course, letting his hand fall to the seat beside him. Dean tried a few slow strokes, his own eyelids half-closing as his cock responded to the touch on Cas’s, the sensation somehow more intense than it had been before.

Too slow, Dean realized, as Cas’s hips bucked upwards, a low keening sound edged with need falling from his lips. He quickened his rhythm, his vision growing hazy as the tension coiled ever tighter. Glancing up, his exhale nearly became a low moan as he took in the image of Cas’s head canted back against the seat, eyes shut tightly, one hand reaching up and rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Dean,” Cas breathed, hips thrusting upwards again, and Dean didn’t need the plea to continue, both of them teetering as close to the edge as they were. His chest was tight, his breaths ragged, and with a strangled cry Cas’s hips lifted from the seat once more as the tightly wound coil snapped in a spectacular release, enough to throw sparks at the edge of Dean’s vision as all his breath left him in something between a growl and a groan.

It could have been minutes, but was probably only seconds, before Dean straightened, collecting the stray bits of consciousness that had scattered at the moment they’d broken. A deep breath, a moment of hard blinking, and with a suddenness that threw him off guard, the fog of arousal lifted and the reality of what he’d just done came crashing down around his shoulders.

In numb disbelief, Dean turned to look at Cas, who was still reclining bonelessly in the passenger’s seat. As though sensing Dean’s eyes upon him, Cas cracked one eyelid open, something of a smile pulling one corner of his mouth up. He reached out a groping, clumsy hand that landed heavily upon Dean’s shoulder, and with a jolt of chill that was so quick Dean could have imagined it, the wet mess in his boxers vanished.

Dean blinked. Should he say thank you? Should he even acknowledge that something had just happened? Cas was tucking himself away, now, not a word spoken to give any indication that anything out of the ordinary had occurred, and Dean decided to follow the angel’s example. He reached out with a hand still slow to respond to fine motor commands and turned the keys in the ignition. The engine filled the silence between them with its own grumbles, and it wasn’t until they’d reached the highway that Dean could clear his throat and say something benign about whether the hardware store would have wrought-iron rods.

 

* * *

 

The hardware store did, in fact, have wrought-iron rods, in the form of tent stakes; the rods in question were even a good, hefty, no-nonsense number about fifteen inches long and sharp on one end, as though they’d been made for dryad-slaying.

“Why iron, again?” Cas asked as Dean dumped their newly obtained loot into the trunk. “Dryads aren’t Fae.”

“No,” Dean agreed, slamming the trunk shut. “But the stake’s got to be something far removed from nature. Not much more unnatural than smelting ore.”

“I thought we didn’t want to kill her.” Cas wasn’t protesting, exactly, but there was definite disapproval in his voice as he ducked into the passenger seat.

“We don’t. But we might not have that choice.” Dean hesitated at the driver’s side door. An hour had not been enough to relieve the skittishness that had begun to permeate Dean’s mind, and the thought of once again entering into close quarters with Cas, the situation still hanging unresolved, gripped him with a cold apprehension.

Saying nothing was no longer an option. Steeling himself, Dean yanked open the car door and sank into the seat.

“That was a mistake,” he said. No preamble. Just say it how it is.

Cas’s brows drew together in confusion for a moment before his face smoothed. “Oh.” A jerk of the head that Dean assumed was akin to a shrug. “All right.”

“All right,” Dean echoed. “Good. Just -- good.” He nodded, mostly to himself, as he turned the keys. Now that everything was cleared up, they could just move on.

 

* * *

 

“Good to see some things never change,” Dean said as he plucked at the sleeve of a plaid flannel shirt. “Canvas, plaid, hunter’s orange and camo.”

“You seem less than thrilled,” Cas observed as he rifled through the racks of shirts, peering at tags to find a size that wouldn’t be enough to drape around him three times.

“Nah.” Dean waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just the same wherever you go. Been wearing surplus store couture for as long as I can remember. It’s easy. Everything matches. You can’t go wrong.” He eyed the shirt Cas had pulled out. “Except with that.”

“I like it.”

“It’s like someone barfed in technicolor. What’s that even supposed to camouflage against?” Dean shook his head. “And you’re a medium at best.”

“Oh?” Cas raised an eyebrow.

Dean shook his head. “Knock that shit off,” he said in a low voice, glancing around the store. “We’re in public.”

“Sorry.” Cas shoved the lurid yellow-and-orange camouflage button-up back on the rack and turned to the rack of medium shirts.

Dean had pulled two pairs of cardboard-stiff jeans from an adjacent rack before Cas spoke again. “I don’t think it was a mistake.”

Dean nearly swallowed his tongue. “Come again?” he asked before the unconscious word choice made him wish he truly had swallowed his tongue.

“I don’t think what happened was a mistake.” Cas had three shirts in his arms, and reached for the jeans Dean held. “How do I know these will fit?”

Dean blinked.  “All the sizes are the same, it’s the same size as the pants you’re wearing -- go back. How was it not a mistake?”

“I think,” Cas said, handing his bundle to Dean, “that if we have to deal with this--” he shrugged out of his overcoat, draping it over one arm, and twisted to try and see the numbers printed in his waistband -- “we may as well give in to what the spell’s prompting us to do.” His voice sounded tight as he twisted the other way, apparently as unsuccessfully as his first attempt to see the label.

Dean rolled his eyes clear to the ceiling and held it for several seconds to be certain the universe knew just how ridiculous this was, heaving a sigh to make it impossible to misinterpret what he was about to do. “Here.” He leaned over, reaching with a free hand to pull the waistband back. “Thirty-four thirty-two.”

“These are loose, though.” Cas pulled out the waistband to demonstrate. “Even with a belt.”

“Jesus,” Dean muttered, “fine, try them on, I don’t care. I’m done caring. What’s this about giving up?”

“Giving in,” Cas corrected, calmly taking back the bundle of clothes from Dean. “I did some reading last night in the Men of Letters’ journals, the ones who were studying the artifact.”

“Studying.”

“Studying.” Cas coughed. “They were fairly certain there’s an element of compulsion to the effect, and resisting it makes the compulsion flare.”

Dean closed his eyes. “Just like the finger trap. Pull harder, it grips tighter.” He shook his head. “This is fascinating. Let’s talk about it somewhere else. Somewhere else that is not in the middle of the friggin’ store.”

Cas nodded once in acquiescence, then raised his voice as an employee wandered by. “Can I try these on?”

The employee stared blankly. “This isn’t JCPenney,” he said dryly, but he pointed. “There’s a restroom in the corner. Knock yourself out.”

Cas paused to pull two more pairs of jeans from the rack, a size larger and smaller, and a question crystallized in Dean's thoughts that was impossible to ignore, despite his moratorium on further discussion of the subject. He fought with himself for several moments as he wove through the racks after Cas into the corner of the store, and finally took a breath.

"So, wait. Compulsion. We're being -- forced to do these things?"

Cas blinked in surprise. "Not at all. That wouldn't be a blessing in any sense of the word." He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "The journals said it was a compulsion to act on desires that would otherwise be ignored."

Dean swallowed. "So -- so you think I wanted --"

A faint flush bloomed in Cas's cheeks. "To touch me?" he finished quietly. "Yes. It's likely." He shrugged with a false nonchalance. "I know I wanted you to."

With a click, Cas shut the restroom door behind him, leaving Dean to stand among the racks of olive green canvas with a stunned expression -- and an undeniable twinge taking root in his pants.

"Shit," he muttered, glancing around as he shoved his hand in his pocket. The store was still empty aside from him and the lone employee now flipping through a magazine at the till. And, of course, Cas, on the other side of the door, currently removing his pants and just as aware of Dean's swiftly developing erection as Dean.

He slid his hand across his thigh to press it down, hide the bulge it would cause if he gave it free reign, and closed his eyes. He could tell Cas to stay in the restroom, and then go out to the car to take care of things. He realized he was slowly stroking himself through the thin lining of his pocket and stopped, but even the pressure of his hand on his shaft was enough to make his cock throb.

He needed to leave. Now, before he ended up jacking off in the middle of the surplus store. Jesus, he knew he had a tiny bit of an exhibitionist streak -- who didn't get off on the idea of someone possibly watching? -- but this was ridiculous. With his other hand, he stepped up to the restroom door and rapped on it with his knuckles.

"Cas," he said, hopefully loud enough to be heard through the door, "I'm --"

The door opened a crack, enough for Cas to peer around. Dean swallowed, the words he'd been about to say completely lost at the sight of Cas's dilated pupils. Did the angel look as though he'd been breathing hard? Difficult to tell, and it wasn't as though Dean had been -- well, he was rubbing himself through his pocket again, not even being discreet about it but actually wrapping his fingers as best he could around the shaft and head and tugging, kneading, and for a moment Dean was completely lost in the sensation and the resulting tiny tremors it caused in Cas's composure.

The undeniable needy heat flushed across him, and as Cas’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, Dean _wanted_.

“Dean?” Cas asked, very softly.

A sound behind them -- the employee opening the till, the diminishing rational portion of Dean's mind supplied -- brought Dean back to reality and he cleared his throat. "I'm..." _heading out to the car_ , he meant to say, but he never got around to it before he pushed at the door, opening it just enough more to slip inside the restroom.

There was just enough time to register white tile and the button lock on the door that Cas pressed in before Dean found himself against the wall, pressed there by the heat of Cas's half-clothed body, cocks rubbing together through too many layers of fabric. Dean withdrew his hand from his pocket and reached up to grasp at the back of Cas's neck, pulling his face roughly up.

Their mouths met in nothing even close to a tender kiss; they were hungry, starving, lips hard against each other as their mouths opened and tongues slid together in a desperate bid for something more. More what, Dean didn't know -- more complete, more satisfying, but he knew with a certainty down to his marrow that rubbing this one out in the parking lot would not have sufficed. He moaned into the kiss as Cas scrabbled at his belt buckle, deft hands made clumsy in haste, and when Dean's jeans and boxers both fell around his ankles he reached down himself to free Cas's erection from its cotton confines of the boxers and then took them both in hand.

"Fuck," he breathed as Cas drew away to rest his forehead on Dean's shoulder. He could barely wrap his hand around both their cocks, the soft skin of his head rubbing against Cas's in a whisper of friction that threatened to undo him right there. A glance down to see his cock shaft-to-shaft with Cas's brought him thundering closer to the edge and he relaxed his hand, taking a deep breath and holding it to pace himself.

Cas, apparently, had other ideas. Sinking to his knees, he wrapped one hand around the base of Dean's cock and leaned forward to take the rest of it in his mouth with no hesitation.

Dean let out his held breath in a cross between a sigh and a grunt, and it took every ounce of self-control he could muster to not thrust forward into the wet heat of Cas's mouth. Cas was working his way down the shaft little by little, taking slightly more each time, tiny sounds of pleasure vibrating against Dean's cock and Dean dimly remembered that Cas could feel everything he was doing to Dean. A rush of precome escaped at the thought, and Dean didn't know if the sound Cas made at that was because of the unexpected taste of it or the response to the sensation that Cas felt, too.

"Cas," Dean croaked, hand tangling in Cas's hair. The name felt good on his tongue, so he said it again. "Cas. Fuck. I'm close." A useless warning, one made more out of habitual good blow job etiquette than current necessity. Cas moaned around his cock in agreement, hand now pumping at the base as his tongue traced zig-zags along the bottom of the shaft.

"Fuck." Dean threw his head back, tightening his fingers in Cas's hair, unable to resist the overwhelming urge to roll his hips forward. "Fuck, Cas, _Cas_ , I'm --"

Stars burst before Dean's eyes as the orgasm hit him like a cresting wave, knees growing weak with each pulse. He felt a hot spattering against his leg as Cas came simultaneously, making sounds of intense satisfaction around Dean's cock that were almost too much for the oversensitive head. A final twitch, a final rush of come that Cas gently sucked off the tip as he let go of Dean's cock and removed his mouth, and Dean sagged against the wall, hardly able to stand.

He pulled Cas up for a sloppy kiss. He tasted himself on Cas's tongue and didn't care, found it deeply appealing and didn't fight when Cas snaked an arm around Dean's back to pull him closer, prolonging the exhausted kiss.

Mind still slightly abuzz, Dean finally broke away to draw a deep breath. "So," he mumbled against Cas's shoulder, "do the pants fit?"

"I can't remember," Cas replied in a similarly weary mutter.

A thought wound its way around the forefront of Dean's brain and took hold, a sobering one that made his breath catch. Cas must have sensed something in the way Dean tensed, because he drew back. "What?" he asked.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, an instinctive reaction to seeing Cas's thoroughly debauched locks. "You and me, in a car, for a long drive to California. With Sam."

Cas's face slid into abject alarm. "We'll never make it."

"We can't make it thirty minutes." Dean looked down at the puddle of clothing at their feet. "I don't know if we'll make it home."

"We..." Cas trailed off. "Maybe if just one of us goes?"

Dean's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "You really think that's better? Spontaneous orgasms while I'm driving, with Sam right there?"

"No." Cas shook his head and finally ran a hand through his own hair, though it did little to restore any order. "I think we're going to need to come up with a new plan."

 

* * *

 

"Food poisoning?" Sam asked, glancing between Cas and Dean.

Dean nodded weakly, hoping he was feigning enough misery to be convincing. Sam had always been able to see through his lies, but maybe he just hadn't wanted Sam to truly believe them before. "Never having the fried rice at Lucky Peacock again, man."

"Both of you?" Sam pressed in disbelief.

"I had the same fried rice," Cas supplied. He even managed to look appropriately green. Dean was willing to believe he'd be emptying the contents of his stomach any second now. He had to keep the admiration from his face as Cas blinked and held up a hand. "Excuse me," he said in a strained voice as he turned and made his way in the direction of the bathrooms.

Sam winced at the muffled sound of very convincing retching. "I guess it's pretty bad if it's bringing down an angel and the man with the iron stomach," he admitted.

"I feel like Coke and Mentos," Dean agreed.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh. "Even if you're better in a couple days, that's cutting it really fine," he said, throwing a glance over Dean's shoulder at the box of files he'd prepared for the case.

Dean shook his head. "You gotta go, man. Cas and I are useless if we gotta stop and yak every ten minutes, and look at this." He held out a hand, and the shaking was rather credible, if he did say so himself. "I'd lose a fight to a ten-year-old right now."

Sam winced at another loud retching sound from the bathroom. Dean wondered if Cas was actually ill. "I don't know. Our plan was kind of hinging on Cas not being affected by her."

"So, what, we wait until next month and let some poor schmuck get gutted?" Dean argued. "You got this. You--" He clamped his mouth shut and swallowed hard, pushing his act to the limit. "One second."

Cas was emerging from the bathroom by the time Dean got there, and Dean stopped short. "You okay?" he asked in a low voice. "Or are you really sick?"

Cas shot him a disparaging look before pushing past him to return to the library. Dean shrugged and let himself into the bathroom. He doubted his ability to fake vomiting as realistically as Cas, so opted instead for a simple gagging sound.

Returning to the library a few minutes later, it was apparent that all the fight had left Sam. Cas looked pale, Dean pasted a mask of sheer misery on his face, and Sam shook his head as he looked up.

"No. You're right, I got this. You guys go rest. If you're better by tomorrow..." Sam sounded doubtful as he shot a glance at Cas. "Go rest," he repeated. "I'll go on a run for saltines and Gatorade."

 

* * *

 

Dean didn't realize that he'd fallen asleep until he woke several hours later, stomach rumbling. Eating anything substantial would destroy the carefully laid illusion, so he sighed, settled back into his mattress, and pulled a book from the bedside table to distract himself until Sam went to sleep.

He half-expected Cas to start jacking off out of sheer boredom, but either Cas was asleep or their encounter earlier had whetted his appetite. Dean finished his book without so much as a flutter of arousal.

He wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed.

 

* * *

 

If Cas's appetite had been whetted earlier, it was back with a vengeance.

Dean thrust shamelessly against the mattress again, willing something to happen, but just as before, it felt good without actually accomplishing anything. He actually whimpered as the tension of being close to orgasm receded into a dull permeating throb as Cas stopped doing whatever he had been doing, and he thrust against the mattress again.

Half an hour. Dean flipped over to lay on his back and rub his temples. Half an hour now, Cas had been playing, bringing himself -- bringing Dean -- so close to the brink it made him tremble, and then backing off. Dean needed to come so badly he couldn't see straight, but attempts to bring himself off were fruitless. Not that he hadn't tried, nearly every single time Cas had stopped. Dean was fairly certain he was chafing.

Dean let out a groan as he felt pressure at his rim, followed by the unmistakable sensation of intrusion. Of course Cas was going to take a detour and finger himself. Dean wondered if Cas was doing this on purpose to rile Dean up, or if he was just enjoying himself and not considering the exquisite agony he was inflicting. Dean tried a few futile pulls at his cock before giving up -- the head was too sensitive to touch at all, now -- and, more out of curiosity than anything else, let his hand trail down behind his balls to stroke his rim.

The double sensation of Cas's phantom touch and his own made Dean's breath catch, and hesitantly, he pushed at the tight ring of muscle with a single finger. It was a different feeling entirely from the reflection of what Cas was doing, and Dean swallowed. It would be a way to pass the time, at least, make him feel like he was doing something productive instead of heaping more abuse on his poor cock...

Now that the notion had occurred to him, it seemed like the most logical thing in the world to do. Briskly, wasting no time, Dean yanked open the drawer of his bedside table and grabbed the bottle of lube he kept there as a special treat for himself, when a dry hand just wouldn't do. He slicked one finger before pausing, then applied a healthy amount to a second finger, as well. He considered the two fingers, breath stuttering for a moment as Cas added a third finger, and then slicked a third finger of his as well. He didn't know if he could take it but he sure as hell didn't want to have to stop if it turned out he could.

He began slowly, trying to relax and failing at first until he figured out the trick of it and could get more than a single knuckle deep before clenching. Cas had not ceased his own ministrations, and the reflected stretching of the muscles aided Dean in the actual stretch -- he suspected that he'd be wincing a lot more without that assistance. One finger finally fully seated, Dean let out a shaky breath as he started to move it slowly in and out of himself, more slowly than Cas's rapid thrusts, reveling in both sensations as he picked up speed. He added the second finger and had just managed to relax around it when Cas did _something_. Dean sucked in a surprised breath at the intense pleasure that went straight to his cock, and then Cas did it once more before he withdrew, leaving Dean with only his fingers to feel.

Cas was stroking his cock again, but Dean continued to pump his fingers, groping, trying to find whatever spot Cas had found. Dean was a little hazy on the details but he was positive it had been the prostate, and if Dean could just find his...

He came with a ferocity he hadn't expected, clenching around his fingers and shooting over his chest and stomach in a dizzying rush. The pulses seemed never-ending, testament to just how long Cas had been stringing them along, and when his cock had finally twitched the last stream of come from him Dean lay motionless, staring at the ceiling.

"Fuck," he said to the empty room.

He became aware that he still had two fingers inside him, if only barely, and he made to withdraw them before pausing. Did he really want to?

No. No, he didn't want to stop. He didn't think he'd be able to come again for some time but he didn't want to stop. He pressed his fingers back into himself, marveling at how easy it had become as he'd loosened the muscles, and let himself enjoy the sensation.

He was hard again sooner than he'd have warranted, and he couldn't help but notice that with the erection, penetrating himself felt better. He spared a thought for Cas, lying in his bed and feeling every move Dean made, and the thought of it sent a delicious thrill through his middle as he crooked his fingers inside himself. He'd gotten past the feeling of foreign intrusion and all he could think of was how he wanted more, harder, deeper, and was seriously considering adding a third finger when there was a soft knock at his door.

"It's me," Cas said from the other side, so quiet Dean almost couldn't hear. "Can I come in?"

Dean coughed, sitting up, legs splayed so he wouldn't have to withdraw his fingers. He pulled the sheet over his lower half -- uselessly, because of course Cas knew exactly what he was doing -- and called out, "Yeah."

Cas slipped in, and Dean stilled his hand for a moment at Cas's expression. Was that...embarrassment? Guilt? His eyes followed the angel as he looked for a place to sit, finally settling on the edge of the bed.

"I'm -- I didn't know that --" Cas stammered, not looking at Dean. "I suppose I should have worked it out, that you'd be able to feel..."

Dean scissored his fingers and was rewarded with Cas taking a shaky breath mid-syllable. Cas closed his eyes for a minute as Dean pulled his fingers almost all the way out, then pushed them back in. "Are you going to keep doing that while I'm trying to talk?" Cas demanded, but the way his voice caught undermined the stern tone.

"Do you want me to stop?" Dean asked.

Cas closed his eyes again as Dean crooked his fingers, close enough to his prostate that the pressure almost rubbed it. "No," Cas said breathlessly.

Dean swallowed as he watched Cas flip aside part of his bathrobe to grasp at his cock. A bead of precome shone at the tip and Dean licked his lips as Cas's thumb swept across it, leaving the purpling head slick. "You did something earlier," he said haltingly. "But I...don't have the angle." He crooked his fingers again to demonstrate. "That's as far as I can get."

Cas's eyes flew open in surprise as Dean pushed the sheet aside. "You want me to --"

"Yes," Dean interrupted emphatically.

Cas clearly did not have to be asked twice. His eyes lit on the bottle of lube standing on the bedside table and he spared no time liberally applying it to his fingers as he positioned himself between Dean's knees, and did not even wait for Dean to withdraw his own fingers before he slid one of his into Dean.

Dean let out a low moan at the stretch, which wasn't even so much a stretch anymore as simple accommodation. He pulled his fingers out and Cas quickly replaced them with his own, and with a single thrust upwards, nudged against Dean's prostate in a motion that made them both draw in a sharp breath.

"I didn't know what this would feel like," Cas slurred, mostly to himself, as he pressed his fingertips in small circles that curled Dean's toes. "I can barely -- it was mostly by accident -- and then I couldn't hold it back anymore, I had to --"

He bit off his babbling as Dean wrapped his hand around his cock and started stroking. Dean didn't think he would ever tire of how openly pleasure flickered across the angel's normally stoic face, as though he'd never learned how to hide it. Cas ceased his rolling massage and began thrusting his fingers now, all three of them, being sure to hit Dean's prostate every other time. Dean matched the speed of Cas's thrusts and chuckled when Cas sped up, every breath issuing a broken syllable of sound that Dean faintly recognized as Enochian.

"Dean," Cas moaned, his free hand reaching down to grasp at his own cock, "Dean, I want to--"

Dean had a fairly good idea of what Cas wanted to do, but they'd reached the point of no return; with a stifled throaty groan they came, Dean adding to the smear of come on his chest and Cas spilling over onto Dean's balls and inner thighs. Panting, Dean stroked until the last of the aftershocks had subsided, and didn't protest when Cas collapsed bonelessly atop him, heedless of the slick mess all over Dean's front.

"I need a shower," Dean said finally, once he'd caught his breath. Cas lifted his head, and Dean grinned. "You coming?"

 

* * *

 

The shower stalls were roomy for a single person; with two, it was crowded.

Dean did not mind.

He'd seen Cas naked before. Several times, in fact, but he'd never had the chance to study him. He hummed in approval as he ran his hands over the slick, wet skin of Cas's chest, finishing at his cock which was just beginning to show signs of life.

Cas closed his eyes in appreciation as Dean stroked him to hardness, a process that took almost no time at all despite the orgasms they'd just had in quick succession. Dean suspected that the blessing had something to do with their reduced recovery times, and wasn't going to complain.

Cas reached down to grab Dean's wrist, halting Dean's stroking, and pressed Dean against the tile wall with his body. Dean submitted to some hasty open-mouthed kisses, hardly more than just snatching their lips against each other, as Cas shifted and slid his cock between Dean's legs to slide along Dean's taint.

"Dean, I...I want..." He looked beseechingly at Dean.

"Say it," Dean replied, reaching around to pull Cas's hips against his own. "I want to hear it."

"Let me inside you." Cas rolled his hips forward again, the head of his cock sliding over Dean's rim.

Dean had known the request was coming, and remembering the needy feeling for something more when he'd been fingering himself, was not about to deny it. Wordlessly he angled his hips forward, reaching back to guide the head of Cas's cock against his rim still loose and slick with lube.

Cas's head canted back, eyes closed as he pushed forward. Dean fought to stay loose -- three fingers was one thing, but a cock was thicker than three fingers and _fuck_ , he didn't _care_ as Cas let out a moan at a tiny spasm Dean had no control over. He shuddered as his own body tried to reconcile the dual feeling of being penetrated and, to a lesser degree, doing the penetrating; his cock was throbbing against Cas's belly, adding a third sensation of friction that made Dean want to growl.

It was good that Cas was slightly shorter than Dean; the height difference seemed tailor-made for shower sex, neither of them having to go up on tiptoes or awkwardly bend their knees to make the angles work. Dean lifted one foot at Cas's wordless prompting, resting it on the low ledge that kept water from escaping from the shower stall, and that was all the adjustment they needed for Cas to surge forward the last tiny amount to be fully seated inside Dean.

Dean let out a long breath, trying to relax around Cas's cock. "So good," he breathed, reaching around to cup his hand around Cas's ass and pull him in further. "Shit, if I'd known cock felt so good I'd have tried it years ago."

Cas let out a breathy laugh before pulling out halfway and pushing back in, hard. The thrust caught the edge of Dean's prostate and he grunted, rolling his hips to try and prolong the sensation. Cas made an inelegant noise of pleasure and pulled out to thrust again, and again, increasing in speed each time he did so until his hands were gripping Dean's hips hard enough to bruise and they were both careening recklessly toward the brink.

"Cas," Dean gasped, and both of them stopped to moan at a particularly satisfying thrust, "Cas, slow down, you're gonna -- you gotta pace yourself --"

"I can't," Cas panted, "I can't, I need -- Dean, I'm -- oh. Oh, _Dean_ \--"

"Fuck. Fuck, Cas, Cas, _Cas_ \--"

It was a very good thing that not only was Sam a heavy sleeper, but that his room was on the opposite end of the corridor and around a corner from the shower room, because neither of them bothered to restrain their voices at the impressive strength of their orgasm.

No sooner had Cas pulled his softening cock from Dean than Dean slid down the wall to sit on the floor, exhausted beyond the ability to stand. Cas sank to the floor beside him, and together they listlessly watched the spray beat down until they could rouse themselves to wash. Dean winced as he tried to rinse out the accumulated semen and lube, and unless he missed his guess, he was going to have a hell of a time doing any walking or sitting the next day unless the nearly-forgotten Mark of Cain decided to help out and heal him while he slept.

Clean and dry, they made their weary way down the corridor, pausing for a moment in front of Dean's door. Dean drew a breath, then didn't know what to do with it. Should he invite Cas in to sleep with him? Was this that sort of relationship? Was it a relationship at all, or just fucking?

Cas saved him from making that decision by laying a tired hand on Dean's shoulder for a moment before continuing down the hall to his own room. Dean watched him go, unsure whether he should be disappointed.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**SUNDAY**

 

Dean sprang awake all at once as his alarm sounded, his hard-on pressing against his belly and the lingering dream of Cas's need-filled moans more than enough to tip him over the edge with a few brutally efficient strokes.

As the last lingering fingers of sleep left him, Dean sat up, pondering the dream. Had it _all_ been a dream? Or none of it? God only knew his dreams of late had been fantastically lucid and vivid, all of them involving him engaging in sexual acts that he, well, could only dream of. It was entirely possible that the night before...

As he swung his legs over the side of the bed he winced, breath hissing out through his teeth as his ass throbbed in dull pain. All thoughts that perhaps it had been a dream fled. No, it had been very, very real. Not four hours ago, Cas had been balls deep in him and he'd liked it. Invited it. Wanted it.

He wondered if it was going to be weird, if Cas was going to make it weird.

 

* * *

 

Sam was overly solicitous to both of them as they helped load up the car for his suddenly solitary hunt, insisting on hauling the heavy box of research materials himself and scolding them for trekking up and down the stairs too often. Dean supposed that he and Cas made a sickly-looking pair, both of them bone-weary and exhausted from the night before and moving carefully from overuse of muscles that weren't accustomed to that kind of treatment.

There was no indication that the night before had changed anything between them, for better or worse, and Dean was beginning to reconsider his certainty that it hadn't been a dream as he slammed the trunk of the car closed. "You're good to go," he said, slapping Sam on the back. "Keep us posted. If we're better in time, maybe we'll come in Cas's car."

Cas shot a glance at him, eyes twinkling, and Dean bit his lip. He really needed to watch what he was saying. The first beginnings of arousal started to collect at his groin as Cas stepped back, and Dean swallowed. A very good thing they weren't going on this hunt.

Sam didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. "I'll try to give you updates. Don't know how much cell service I'll get in the Sequoias. If I don't call by next Tuesday..." he trailed off.

"Not gonna happen," Dean said heartily. "Come on, Sam. It's not even a demon, it's a dryad. The only reason this is harder than a salt 'n burn is because you're insisting on diplomacy first."

"I guess." Sam shrugged, then opened the driver's side door. "Get better. Don't start back in on the beer and bacon as soon as I turn the corner."

"Scout's honor." Dean waved once as Sam folded himself into the car, then turned toward the steps down to the door where Cas was waiting.

The door hadn't even shut all the way before Cas had slammed him against it, teeth dragging at Dean's lower lip as his hands pulled at Dean's belt. Dean began to protest, but as Cas pulled both their cocks free and began stroking, Dean decided that it could wait.


	5. Chapter 5

**MONDAY**

 

There were no windows in Cas's bedroom, which made the passage of time difficult to judge, but Dean's watch told him that thirty-seven hours had passed since they'd first stumbled in, haphazardly undressing as they went, and had not left since except to eat and shower and pee. If it was possible to die from sexual exhaustion, Dean was fairly certain they would discover it soon. Dean was sore in places he didn't know it was possible to be sore, ached in muscles he didn't know he had, and yet even just looking at Cas arching his back in a stretch was enough to make him forget his weariness and begin anew.

Cas stretched in exactly that way just then, yawning, and he looked over at Dean with a hint of minor dismay as Dean felt his cock begin to stir.

"We still have six more days of this," Dean said helplessly, reaching out to run a hand over Cas's chest. He couldn't help it. He wanted to touch, he liked to touch, and so touch he did.

Cas closed his eyes as Dean's hand ran down his chest to his cock, which was swaying to full erection even as Dean's did. "Maybe," he said hoarsely -- they had been doing quite a lot of shouting, now that there was no one to hear them -- "if we avoid each other, we can avoid the compulsion to be constantly..." he trailed off into a sigh as Dean's hand dropped to probe at his rim.

"Constantly fucking?" Dean finished.

"Yes," Cas said breathily, though Dean wasn't positive that it had been in response to what he'd said or the way he'd just slipped a finger inside. Cas was still loose from earlier, the lube not yet absorbed into his skin, and Cas only tolerated Dean teasing him for a few moments before knocking Dean back on the bed and sinking onto Dean's cock, both of them moaning with the pleasure of it. It still felt incredible, Dean reflected as he jerked his hips upward, and every bit as intense. If anything, it had grown _more_ intense: even as Cas rolled his hips, driving Dean deeper inside him, Dean _wanted_. He wanted Cas inside him, wanted to be inside Cas even as he was planting his feet on the mattress to thrust himself deeper into Cas at that very moment, wanted to take Cas in his mouth and swallow every inch of him, wanted Cas's tongue at his rim and wanted to rub at Cas's prostate until he came untouched. He wanted it all, simultaneously, and choosing what they would do at any given point was almost as much torture as not doing anything at all, which they had tried and succeeded at for a staggering three minutes.

With a shout, Dean came -- a shout in Enochian, which Dean had discovered drove Cas wild to hear coming from Dean's mouth. He wasn't certain what he was saying, but Cas had assured him it was absolutely filthy. Cas stayed quiet to listen, spilling on Dean's stomach in hot pulses that he would surreptitiously do away with to avoid having to take too many trips to the shower.

Cas did not climb off, even after Dean's cock softened; Dean hummed in anticipation. It wouldn't take long for Cas to become aroused again, and getting hard while inside Cas always felt fantastic -- especially if it was Cas's sensations he felt, and so he would feel the throbbing pulses inside himself as he got hard, and the sex always lasted longer when Cas was bottoming and it was his orgasm that would end it.

"Yes," Cas said again after a few moments, more coherently than before. "We should try it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Dean agreed. He reached up to take hold of Cas's cock, to try and coax it into getting hard faster. Even between actual bouts of arousal, Dean felt constantly horny, probably a result of hormones never actually having a chance to leave his system.

"Wouldn't make sense to start it now," Cas murmured, reaching down to encircle Dean's hand in his on his cock. "Day's nearly over."

"Mm hmm." There it was; Dean sighed as he felt his own cock grow half-hard even as Cas's swelled under his touch.

"We need to sleep after this," Cas murmured, shifting his hips just slightly as Dean's erection filled him again. "In different rooms," he added. "So that we _can_ sleep."

He rocked his hips then, and if he said anything else, Dean was too far gone to pay any attention.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**TUESDAY**

 

There was very possibly something to the hypothesis of avoiding one another, Dean was willing to admit; he had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head had hit his pillow, and slept like the dead for ten solid hours. And if his cock had already been in his hand when he'd awoken, well, that wasn't necessarily a new development.

He'd barely begun, however, before his door opened and Cas entered swiftly. "Just once," he said, climbing atop Dean, "once to stave off the craving."

"Makes sense," Dean breathed as Cas sank down on his cock. "Just once."


	7. Chapter 7

**TUESDAY**

 

"I mean, it only makes sense we both get a turn." Dean grunted as Cas drove himself deeper; if Dean was bent over the bed with his legs spread, Cas could get farther inside than nearly any other position they'd tried.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**TUESDAY**

 

"This doesn't count," Dean said, still ridiculously holding his coffee mug as Cas knelt in front of him in the kitchen, pulling Dean's cock out through his fly. "We didn't even intend to run into each other."

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**TUESDAY**

 

"The day's half-over," Cas pointed out as he bucked his hips upward into Dean. "So really, there's no point in con -- continuing the -- the experi -- experimen --nnnng, _yes_."

"Amen," Dean breathed, leaning down to lick a stray spatter of come from Cas's chest.


	10. Chapter 10

**WEDNESDAY**

 

Dean felt slightly guilty for having taken Cas's car without asking Cas, but asking would have meant waking Cas up, and waking Cas up would have caused his entire plan to collapse. It seemed as though the only possible way he could think clearly without a tidal wave of insistent hormones distracting him was for him to be awake while Cas slept on.

He'd left a note, scrawled on a post-it on the fridge. It informed Cas that he was going to take the "avoiding each other" tactic very seriously today, and go check into a motel somewhere. No, he wasn't going to tell Cas where.

"Where" was actually forty minutes east of the bunker, at the first roadside motel Dean had come across that seemed far enough away that Cas would not be able to walk to it. Not easily, anyway.

He'd taken additional precautions, just in case Cas was prone to the same sorts of dreams Dean was lately; the washcloth, held in place with a jock strap, felt absolutely ridiculous, but if Cas vented his frustration in a carnal manner while Dean was out in the open, he might be damn well grateful for his unorthodox foresight. It was, however, the first thing he got rid of once he'd locked the door of the room and closed the blinds.

In fact, Dean decided, he never got to lounge around naked anywhere anymore. There was always someone at the bunker who would take offense, unless he stayed in his room, and that was hardly any fun at all. He'd just hung his shirt over the back of a chair and was about to stoop to untie the laces from his boots when Cas woke up.

Cas was, evidently, indeed prone to the same sort of dreams Dean had been having, and reacted accordingly, if with more fervor than Dean had anticipated. He'd barely had time to pull off his shoes and shuck away his pants and boxers when he had to grab frantically for the discarded washcloth.

The build up to the summit was impressive, if rapid, but the orgasm itself felt...thin. Unsatisfying. A far cry from what he was accustomed to, even sans blessing, and certainly nothing like what he'd grown to expect in the past few days, which set his fingertips tingling and vision fuzzy on a regular basis, no matter how frequent. "Hmm." He frowned down at his dick and then shrugged. Maybe being so far away from Cas had something to do with it. If that was the side effect, Dean supposed he could --

Mid-thought, the tight heat of arousal slammed into Dean's gut with a force that made him gasp. There was absolutely no resisting this, in any way, shape, or form; despite coming not half a minute ago he was achingly hard and his hand felt totally inadequate as he stroked himself, abandoning any sort of finesse, in an attempt to assuage the overwhelming demands his body was making. It wasn't _enough_ ; in desperation, Dean sank onto the bed and reached around behind his back to attempt to finger himself. The angle was horrible, and he wasn't flexible enough to accomplish much of anything, despite careening toward orgasm at a speed that his sore and tired body protested in a dull, removed sort of way. He felt his balls tighten and shoot, and there was no mistaking the hot spatter on his chest and over his hand, and yet it didn't feel like he'd come at all. He continued to stroke for several more seconds, wondering if maybe he'd just done it wrong -- though how he could fail something he'd had so much practice at, he had no idea -- but it was clear that he was done, with no satiation to show for it.

Before his heart rate had even begun to return to normal he was hard again, and Cas's initial enthusiasm was now explained, if he was feeling anything close to what Dean was. Dean managed to get to his pants and fish his cell phone from the pocket before coming again, nothing much more than a momentary weakness of the knees and absolutely no release of the building tension.

There was no time to compose the text to Cas before his next erection commanded attention; even while pulling at it with one hand and texting with the other, he couldn't finish it before he had to toss his phone aside and resume his futile attempts to penetrate himself to feel something that would sate his body's demands. Even stroking wasn't sufficient; he resorted to pumping his hips upwards into his fist, which seemed to help marginally.

Dean had barely finished coming before the sensation of Cas's frantic masturbation flooded his senses, but he did at least have time to send one text message before he came, this time with little more sensation than just the rush of warm fluid leaving his cock:

BAD IDEA  
ON MY WAY BACK

Dressing while jacking off was close to impossible; Dean gave up on forcing himself completely into pants and tied his jacket around his waist to hold up his loose jeans and hide his permanently erect cock for the short trip from the room to the car. Buttoning his shirt was a lost cause entirely. The washcloth was sodden -- despite what should have been physical limitations, his body seemed to have no shortage of semen -- and Dean stole three from the motel bathroom.

He decided not to think about the scene he was leaving behind him. He was sure the motel staff had probably seen worse.

 

* * *

 

Driving took every ounce of concentration Dean could muster, which wasn't much. The hour was still early, the roads not prone to rush hour traffic, but Dean was positive that the few cars he passed could not mistake the motions of a man furiously jacking off under the steering wheel. He'd pulled over the first few times, but realized as he'd sat in the same spot for five minutes with his cock in his hand that if he did that every time he needed to jack off or wait for Cas to come, he'd never get anywhere.

Dean's arm ached, and the friction on his dick was getting to the point where he could tell that the Mark of Cain was stepping in to negate the minor injuries. "Great," he muttered to himself, "now I want to fuck Cas and then kill something." On the bright side, he had the distinct feeling that whatever craving the Mark bestowed upon him now, he would be really, really good at being able to ignore it.

He came again, and then immediately the sensation of three fingers in his ass materialized. Cas wasn't even bothering to stop between orgasms, and Dean didn't blame him. He'd tried to figure out how many times they'd come since his disastrous decision to check in at the motel, and the closest he could figure was thirty.

"Thirty-one," he said haltingly, gripping the steering wheel hard with one hand as the other went back down to his cock.

 

* * *

 

"Fifty-seven!" Dean announced as he threw open the door to the bunker, but got no further before Cas pulled him to the floor. The heavy door slammed shut behind them as Cas straddled Dean, plunging himself down on Dean's cock with no preamble.

There was nothing so gentle as sparks or fuzzy vision; the shout as they both came with a force that was nearly painful echoed through the entry stairwell, and Dean's eyes screwed shut tightly, back arched off the ground, and Cas was trembling atop him and around him as Dean emptied himself into Cas with pulse after too-intense pulse.

Dean's ears were ringing, and his sense of time felt irrevocably skewed; it had to have been hours since Cas had collapsed atop him, but the come trapped between their chests was still warm and his muscles were still weak and shaking.

He cleared his throat; it felt more than hoarse, it felt torn from his shouts. His lips were dry. "I think," he said, and he managed it in something between a whisper and a croak, "we should try looking up how to nullify this blessing."

 

* * *

 

Dean had had reason to look up ways to nullify magic before, and his memory had served him properly: without knowing the exact details of the spell that linked them, there was no way to nullify the magic without destroying the item outright. He found the page in the book where it said as much and pointed out the damning passage to Cas, whose lips thinned as he read the line.

"Well," he said with some reluctance, "it isn't that difficult for me to bless a candle. And the finger trap was small; it wouldn't need more than a candle."

"Right." Dean took a deep breath. "Should I go get the finger trap while you set things up?"

Cas nodded absently.

It was where they had left it, shoved into the cubbyhole in the reagent room; Dean pulled it from its resting place and before he'd realized what he was doing, he slid the lid from the box and looked inside.

It looked so innocuous. It could have been purple once, or pink, but it had faded to gray with age. How could something so plain have turned their lives inside out like it had?

By the time he returned to the reading room, he'd taken the finger trap from the box and was rolling it between his fingers thoughtfully. He glanced up and met Cas's eyes as he passed a hand over a squat white candle, igniting the wick with a sputter. As their eyes locked, there was a stab of pleasure alongside a curl of recognition in Dean's middle, and he swallowed.

What would happen when they destroyed the blessing? No doubt the implacable urge to constantly be inside one another in some shape or form would dissipate, but...would the nearly tangible attraction evaporate completely? Would he look at Cas and no longer want to reach out to touch him? It was all well and good to say the blessing made them act on desires they had already, but were the desires there only because the blessing had linked the two of them?

The twinge of pleasure had bloomed into full-blown arousal now, and Dean closed his eyes to try and concentrate. All he had to do was hold the trap up to the flame, let it burn, and it would all be over.

"Dean?" Cas asked.

The wood lid of the box slid into place with a quiet tap. "Someone else might want to use this someday," Dean said. "And...and it might not be so bad if it was, I don't know, maybe just one or two nights once in a while."

"Are you...enjoying this?" Cas asked hesitantly.

Dean opened his eyes, and was struck by the intense hope plain on Cas's face. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am."

The relief in Cas's eyes made something in Dean’s chest glow as he leaned forward to blow out the candle. "What are we going to do about this in the meantime?" Cas asked.

Dean grinned as he shoved the wooden box onto a shelf. "Well. We haven't done it on a table yet."


	11. Chapter 11

**THURSDAY**   
**FRIDAY**

 

There were, in fact, several surfaces in the bunker they had not yet fucked themselves senseless upon, and they had no real limit to the amount of time they could spend rectifying that oversight.

Including, and Dean would never admit what a thrill it was and swore Cas to utmost secrecy regarding the act, Sam's bed.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**SATURDAY**

 

Despite the soreness and exhaustion, and despite the alarming rate at which their lube was dwindling, the number of "one last times" as the hours ticked closer to the rising of the new moon was so high that Dean had stopped counting.

He was sinking down onto Cas's cock, toes curling at the way Cas moaned and bucked his hips up to fuck into him, when the alarm he'd set on his phone began to chime.

They ignored it, of course, Dean rocking his hips to meet Cas's thrusts and bring them both to the brink in record time, and it was several moments after they came before Dean reached out to silence it.

"What was that for?" Cas asked.

Dean swallowed. "I set it for two hours before the new moon rose."

"Two hours?" Cas reached out a hand to run down Dean's bare chest. "That's a lot of time."

Dean sighed in approval as Cas ran a finger around one erect nipple. "Yeah. But I -- I don't want to be awake for it."

"Oh." Cas paused. "You...make a good point. That might be..."

Whatever Cas thought it might be, he apparently didn't want to share. Instead he shook his head and ran his hand down Dean's stomach to wrap around Dean's cock. "One more time then. Truly, this time."

"One more time," Dean agreed, rolling his hips up to thrust into Cas's hand.

 

* * *

  
  


"One more time," Dean gasped, pushing Cas back against the mattress. "There's time for one more."

"We have maybe two minutes," Cas protested, but that did not stop him reaching down to guide Dean's cock to the best angle, with a low grunt as Dean surged forward into him. "Maybe less."

"Plenty of time." They were already close; Dean let his eyes shut in bliss as he felt each thrust hit home against Cas's prostate, Cas's hand pumping his cock in a matching rhythm --

And then it stopped.

Dean faltered as the sensation inside him melted away completely, leaving only the feeling of his cock deep within Cas -- and that was entirely his, with no trace of Cas's touch at all, except in the minute muscle spasms around his cock.

"It's gone," Dean said, stopping entirely, pulled nearly all the way out of Cas. "It's...we're done."

"Done?" Cas asked, his hand slowing on his own cock.

Dean opened his mouth, but paused to consider. The dreadful urge was gone, the overbearing need to come now, now, now -- and yet, as he considered Cas below him, legs splayed, hand on his cock and looking so thoroughly debauched, Dean felt a small, devilish grin tug at one corner of his mouth. He leaned back down, a hand to either side of Cas's torso, and thrust forward.

"Keep going," he said in a low, throaty voice, relishing the way Cas's eyes widened at the sudden intrusion. "I want to watch you come. Really watch. I've been distracted lately."

"Oh," Cas choked out, and Dean could feel Cas’s hand picking up speed between them. His own balls were tightening, threatening to shoot, but he focused on keeping his hips to a slow rhythm, carefully watching Cas writhe beneath him. He couldn't feel it anymore, and yet he knew the exact instant when Cas toppled over the brink just before orgasm, the split-second when the senses were flooded with pleasure before the massive release of pent-up tension. Cas gasped, then moaned, tightening around Dean's cock in pulses that brought Dean close to the breaking point himself. Dean grit his teeth against his impending orgasm, intent on fucking Cas through his, watching Cas's chest heave as he continued to let out little hiccoughing moans.

"Fuck," Dean breathed when Cas opened his eyes to lock with Dean's. He shifted, straightening so he could grasp Cas's hips in both hands as he drove himself forward, recklessly chasing his own orgasm now. Cas let out a cry at the new intensity and Dean felt a hand tighten over the top of his own, and Dean realized he didn't know what it felt like to be fucked right after coming.

"Don't -- don't stop," Cas gasped, as though Dean had had any intention. "Oh. Dean, I --" He melted into nonsense Enochian syllables, and it was seeing Cas so completely undone that finally pushed Dean over the edge.

"Cas -- fuck, Cas --" Dean thrust forward once more before he came, flashes of white behind his eyelids as he emptied himself into Cas, it feeling somehow different than any one of the hundred times he'd done so in the week before. Somehow more deeply satisfying, the feeling of...completion.

With extra care, Dean pulled himself out and then collapsed on the bed next to Cas. With a suddenness that surprised him, sleep dragged him into a thick haze and he almost didn't feel Cas throw one arm over him before he was pulled into a deep, heavy sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**SUNDAY**

 

Dean's eyelids fluttered, then opened as he pushed himself to sitting. The room was still dark, aside from the red light of the power strip in the corner where the lamp plugged in; it threw the entire room into shadows, dark shapes against darker.

Bewildered, he tried to figure out what was strange, what was different, and then as Cas shifted on the bed next to him, it hit him: he'd woken up without a sex dream.

And a good thing, too, he considered as he stretched and every muscle lodged a formal complaint. He let out a tiny moan of pain -- not loud, and more complaint than actual pain -- and Cas reached out in a groping motion.

"Hey. Sorry." Dean allowed himself to be pulled back down, reaching around to bring Cas close to his chest without realizing it. He looked down, surprised, as Cas nestled against him sleepily and became still once more, breathing slow and regular.

Dean lowered his face and buried his nose in Cas's hair, breathing deeply. Cas still smelled like he always had -- that ineffable combination that made Dean think of lightning and snow and wind over the ocean -- and also, perhaps, like he needed a shower.

He squeezed. Cas stirred, raising his head, and made a groggy questioning noise before Dean met his lips with his own.

The kiss was slow, thoughtful, lazy even, the kind of kiss that, in their fervor and haste, they’d never had time for. It stretched languorously, kindling a slow, luxurious burn in Dean's middle that had none of the commanding intensity he'd been at the mercy of for the past several days. This didn't demand to be sated, and he reveled in it.

Without the desperation to race to the climax, they moved slowly, nursing aching muscles and sore hind ends with utmost care. When Cas slid into Dean after many careful minutes of cautious prepping, it was with a sigh and then gentle rocking, not a shout and reckless thrusting. They moved together not of shared sensations, but more of shared intent -- Cas rolling his hips and Dean meeting them, a painstakingly deliberate build, delicious in its own way.

Dean came with a sharp indrawn breath, spilling over Cas's hand as the angel brought him off, and then Cas rocked his hips forward with perhaps a little more energy as Dean coasted on the receding waves of his own orgasm, breathless as Cas came inside him with the murmur of "Dean" on his lips.

They lay under the single sheet for some time after that, listening to one another breathe, and Dean was fairly sure he had his answer as to whether he'd only wanted Cas because of the blessing.

 

 


	14. EPILOGUE

"Yeah, no, it all worked out pretty well," Sam said as he shoved a fork full of mashed potatoes into his mouth. "She drove a hard bargain, but -- do you know what the actual problem was?"

"What?" Dean asked.

"She didn't have any sisters to explain to her that human males didn't have any control over whether they got her pregnant or not." Sam shrugged. "Apparently hunters have killed off all the other Sequoia dryads. She's the last one left. Kind of makes sense that she'd be desperate to continue the line."

"So she's done ganking campers, then?" Dean asked.

"I think so," Sam said carefully. "I think she'll just let them go from now on, if they swear to not tell anyone about her. And I talked to her before I left -- she thinks that her, uh, last encounter may have done the trick."

"Good," Cas said with conviction. "I'm glad you were able to solve this without bloodshed."

Sam coughed, then nodded. "How is your food poisoning?" he asked pointedly as Dean shoveled half a chicken enchilada into his mouth.

"Good," Dean replied gracelessly through his mouthful. He chewed, then swallowed. "Just one of those things we had to let die down."

Sam didn't push. Nor did he say anything the rest of the evening, even when he saw Dean squeeze Cas's ass while they did dishes. Sam was fairly certain he was meant to see it, the way Dean twisted around and looked at Sam with a raised eyebrow.

Even if he was meant to see it, Sam didn't say anything. If it had taken joint agony for Dean and Cas to finally stow their crap and hook up, then Sam was happy.

Besides, he really didn't have a leg to stand on. After all, he had just kind of banged a dryad.

 

 


End file.
